Boys and Dolls: A New Era of Play

I could not be more excited to welcome my dear friend Kristen Johnson to the blog today to share about her new passion project that so closely aligns with my values when it comes to raising boys - it's dang near scary.  

My boys love dolls.  My almost-four-year-old carries a baby doll regularly with him to school.  He loves to dress dolls, talk to them, give them milk, and dance with them.  His dolls are in his toy set and just another part of his pretend play routine.  No big deal to him.

But dolls seem to be a big deal to adults.  Especially when boys play with dolls.  There’s a lot of Internet chatter about the topic of boys and dolls.  Generally, the public commentary of the moment seems to agree that boys should play with dolls. 

Why, then, is the world of dolls so askew? 

The makers and the buyers of dolls have until now allowed dolls—which are just little people—to be almost entirely one gender.  I’m sure this doesn’t come as a surprise to you, but that gender is female.  Dolls are girls.  Even most baby dolls are girls.  It is extremely rare to find a normal-looking boy doll in the 3-9 age range.

This phenomenon of doll gender imbalance has not gone unnoticed.  In a hugely popular viral Internet moment, we saw one mom make an “American boy” doll for her son.  That mom (Gina DeMillo Wagner) wrote about the experience: “A year ago, when my daughter turned 7, she received one of American Girl’s popular ‘Truly Me’ dolls, customized to look like her. My son, naturally, wanted a doll that looks like him, too. Trouble is, there are no 18-inch ‘American Boy’ dolls available.”  Wagner did something about it, but the only way she could figure how to do so was to buy a girl doll, remove her makeup and cut her hair to create a boy doll. 

How odd that she could not just go buy a boy doll.

The imbalance among dolls impacts all children.  We all know the problem:  Girls are told that they should be playing with dolls, creating a lifelong impression that somehow the action of nurturing, caretaking, and even play with like-aged children and babies belongs to females.  In turn, boys are sent the message that they should not be playing with dolls.  This creates a lifelong impression that their job is NOT to be nurturing, caretaking, and playing with like-aged children and babies.

Our kids deserve better than this.  My sons are onto something when they play with dolls.  They’re relating.  They’re oblivious to stereotypes.  And we should keep them that way.

Okay, so what’s the problem and solution? 

The problem is that modern-day toys still send antiquated messages.  

Our kids cannot walk into a toy store and choose from an array of dolls.  They can’t find a doll that looks like them, and sometimes they can’t even find a doll that is their gender or race.

The solution is for real, really real, to stock the doll sections of toy aisles with a healthy variety of dolls.  So simple.  Kids’ imaginations can do most of the work, but let’s give them access to a full painters’ palette rather than a single choice.

Choice is what matters.  No one wants to go to a restaurant only to be served one dish.  Add some variety, let kids choose how to play, and watch the happiness grow.  Let’s give the boy and girl dolls.

Beyond evening the playing field, encouraging all our young’uns to engage in free and imaginative play with dolls has massive benefits on their childhood development.  The skills developed are countless, but just to name a few, an occupational therapist, a speech-language pathologist, and a clinical psychologist (all also moms) identified these:

• Cognitive, fine motor, and self-help skills
• Speech and language skills
• Social and emotional skills

Based upon my lowly observations as a mom myself, though, despite these great benefits of playing with dolls, boys are still discouraged from doing so.  Change in the doll world is moving at a snail’s pace.  So I have decided to do something about it.  If the solution is to get more variety into the stores, then let’s do it!

Next month I am launching a new company, Boy Story, designed to bring diverse boy dolls to the toy aisles for all kids.  Boy Story’s main product is 18” ball-jointed Action Dolls.  They are boys (for now—girls will be added as the selection becomes more balanced).  Each boy doll comes with a story to get the imagination fired up.  My dream is to walk into a toy store and see a selection of dolls more representative of the world we live in.  Diverse, evenly marketed to both boys and girls, and fun.

FUN - most of all.  Once we’ve gotten rid of the stereotypes that have plagued our toys for generations, that’s what will emerge.  Fun.

For me, and pretty much for every parent I know, that’s really the goal here.  Provide toys that are a joy to play with.  We want the moments of our kids’ lives to be fun, carefree, and filled with play.  Our childhood time is precious.  Why waste it having to struggle through an explanation over pink and blue aisles?  Or spend time explaining to my son why all the dolls available only wear dresses?  Let’s give our kids the diverse tools they need to grow into loving and open-minded adults.

On April 13th, you can help my mission to level the playing field.  Boy Story is launching a Kickstarter campaign to raise enough money for production of our first run of Action Dolls.  We hope you’ll join in, back our project, and contribute to this positive change! 

Stay tuned and follow us here:

facebook.com/boystorydolls

twitter.com/boystorydolls

instagram.com/boystorydolls

Our newsletter for all the latest updates!   http://eepurl.com/bEX4Z5

Kristen Johnson is an international lawyer living in Qatar, family devotee, and social changer.  She can't decide whether to lean in or lean back, but with two young sons, her hands always seem to be full.  Her village is her rock: her husband, family, friends, and colleagues.  She co-founded Boy Story with her sister, Katie Jarvis, a brilliant designer, goofball aunt, and the-girl-you-can't-stop-laughing-with.  

Education: Preschool, Public School, and More

Over the past few months, several people have asked me to share my thoughts on school. When did I start sending my children to preschool? How do I feel about half day versus full day? Why did I choose to send my children to public school instead of private school? 

In a way, it's hard to talk about education and the choices I've made for my children because I feel - probably incorrectly - that it locks me into the decisions I've made. I've chosen public school for my kids, and - if I share why - then I can never take another route. 

So, let me begin with this disclaimer. If at any point this path doesn't work for one of my children or stops working for one of my children, I will not hesitate to return to the drawing board and look for a better solution.

Now, let's begin at the beginning.

Both of my boys began two-day-a-week half-day preschool at two years old. Both Griffin and Amos had been attending Mommy's Day Out for five hours a day two days a week since a very young age. Both boys were confident and curious and neither experienced any anxiety beyond the normal separation anxiety every toddler goes through.

So, for us, preschool was a no-brainer.

All of our decision-making is simplified because we live in a small town and there are fewer options. We only had three or four preschools to choose from and none of them were difficult to get into. We chose Immanuel Baptist Preschool because I was incredibly impressed by the director and loved the curriculum focus on self-control and character. I have never not once regretted that choice.

Both Griffin and Amos attended two-day-a-week classes for two years before moving up to five-day-a-week pre-K. We never considered holding them back for a year in the four-year-old class because - as I explained in this post - holding back was never the right choice for our boys. 

After preschool, Griffin began kindergarten at Clark Elementary School (which just so happens to be next door to Immanuel Baptist Preschool!) in the fall of 2014. Amos will begin in the fall of this year. (WHELP!)

When it came time for elementary school, our options were a bit more complicated. Paducah has excellent public schools and two public school systems - Paducah Public Schools and McCracken County Public Schools. We also have St. Mary School System, our local Catholic private school, and Community Christian Academy, our local Christian private school. Then, of course, there is always homeschooling.

While I would never remove homeschooling as an option, I simply do not have the patience or skills to teach young children, even my own, how to read or add or subtract or do any of the most rudimentary skills. I can barely handle teaching Griffin how to tie his shoes. I just don't have the patience.

Now, helping a middle schooler or high schooler explore subject areas or do research or learn more about physics or algebra, I'd be all about that. That I could handle and would most likely enjoy. But teaching a five-year-old to read? Pass.

So, homeschooling was off the table. 

As far as private school, the ability to send our children to great public schools was one of the primary reason we moved home in 2009. I understand that many aren't that lucky and private school is one of the best options they have. I am very thankful (and much richer!) because our family is not put in that position.

To many of my friends, religious education is important enough to choose one of our private schools. It is not to our family. I do not send my children to school for moral education. Now, I do believe that school is a good testing ground for the morals I've hopefully instilled in them but that's another post. 

So, we were left with choosing between the city schools and the county schools. I am a product of the county school system and was the fourth generation of my family to graduate from Heath High School. However, several years ago the county high schools merged and Heath High School was closed ending any loyalty I had to the county school system.

We live in the city school district and the elementary school was around the corner from my house. Many of our close friends sent their children to the city schools and were incredibly happy the education their children were receiving. 

Of course, the same could be said of our friends sending their children to elementary schools in the county. The differences between the elementary schools weren't many. So, we were left to look a little beyond kindergarten to the impact of our choice.

There are a couple of big differences between our area high schools. First, McCracken County Public School is the home to almost 2,000 high school students. The enrollment of Paducah Tilghman is about 750. That's a big difference. The enrollment at my high school was a little over 500 and while I understand the increased opportunities that come from a school that big, for me size matters and it seems that most of the science agrees.

Plus, Paducah Public Schools has a much more diverse population. My high school was small but it was also incredibly uniform with regards to race and economic background. Nicholas, however, went to a diverse high school and argues he is better for it. I understand that diversity isn't a top priority for every family. Obviously, I moved my family from Washington, D.C., to Paducah so it isn't the only thing that matters to me. However, it was important enough to consider.

Truthfully, throughout the entire process, I've always tried to remind myself that my kids will most likely be fine. They are smart. They have parents who care and are invested in their education. Should any problems arrive our family has the time and resources to deal with them. No decision is really going to make or break them educationally. 

With our kids, careful thinking is always important but one decision rarely predicts the outcome of their entire lives.

Education is no different. 

When something is wrong with your baby

I began noticing it about six months ago. 

Felix favored his left hand. A lot. He reached with it. Ate with it. Used it to do most everything. The right hand he kept balled up (as in the picture above) and close to his body. 

At first, it didn't seem like that big of a deal. Griffin and Amos also favored their left hand at a young age because I remember my mother warning me they would be left handed. It became pronounced right around the time he rolled off a bed at my sister-in-law's house so I worried he might have suffered some type of head or arm injury.

My pediatrician assured me he had not suffered a head trauma sufficient to affect the usage of his limbs from rolling off a bed. I continued to worry and began consulting Dr. Google. 

If you google handedness in infant, you will get a ton of results telling you your baby has cerebral palsy. A scary diagnosis made even scarier for me because I confused cerebral palsy with cystic fibrosis. P.S. NOT the same thing.

After weeks of fretting, we decided to take Felix in for an exam and the doctor agreed that something was going on. He suggested pinning his sleeve closed so he couldn't use his left hand and see if that affected the use of his right.

It didn't. 

In the meantime, I spoke to as many people as I could with expertise in this area, including another pediatrician with several decades of experience and a neurologist. 

Both recommended having Felix examined by a pediatric neurologist. Both suggested it was most likely a very minor form of cerebral palsy and that he would most likely need physical therapy. 

Last week, we took Felix to Vanderbilt Children's Hospital to the pediatric neurology clinic. The doctor was incredibly kind and helpful. She examined Felix and walked through several possibilities. At first, she was concerned that maybe he had suffered some nerve damage in his arm. However, using the 1 Second Everyday video I took his first year of life, she was able to tell that he was using both early on and eliminate that as a possibility.  (Win for crazy documenting moms and technology!)

Then, she told us exactly what we expected to hear. She told us he most likely suffered a small stroke in utero or after birth that has affected his right arm. Cerebral palsy is basically just a term they use to describe damage to the brain either from stroke or birth injury. She told us we did not need to get a MRI because it wouldn't change the treatment, which is physical therapy.

Thinking about my baby having a stroke is incredibly scary. Strokes are a scary thing. However, by the time we heard those words come out of the doctor's mouth, I'd had months to adjust to the idea. The diagnosis is scary but Felix's actual situation isn't. Many children suffer paralysis and delays and many, many other problems.

Felix hasn't missed a milestone. While he army crawls instead of getting up on his hands and knees, he has already started pulling up and his language is also progressing much like his brothers. The doctor confirmed that he seems to be in great shape and will most likely regain total usage with therapy.

I walked out of the Children's Hospital - a harrowing place to be - thinking we had the best outcome we could ask for when we walked into the doors. Our child had exactly what we thought he had and was getting the treatment we expected.

Then... she called back.

After discussing Felix with a pediatric stroke specialist, the doctor had concerns that Felix's symptoms could also be the result of a very rare vascular malformation. Now, the recommendation is that Felix have a MRI, which will require general anesthesia. 

It shouldn't come as a surprise to any of you that I HATE the idea of my one-year-old baby going under general anesthesia. HATE. While I know children all over the country go under general anesthesia every day, I also know there are real (and growing) concerns about it. 

However, the risks of a vascular malformation are real and incredibly dangerous. Should Felix have the malformation he would require surgery. A possibility I'm not even trying to think about right now.

We've scheduled the scan, although we're still having lots of discussions with medical professionals we trust about how to reduce the risk of long-term consequences.

And - despite the latest curve ball - I'm still grateful. Grateful it's not worse. Grateful he's still a happy, healthy baby. Grateful for our supportive family and friends. 

Grateful we have the time and energy and resources to get Felix all the help he needs. 

Campaign Update: March

Photo by Rachael House Photography.

"How's the campaign going?"

It's the question I get most often. It's also the question I'm never quite sure how to answer.

Good? ... Great! ... Your guess is as good as mine. ... We'll see May 17th!

The truth - I suppose - all depends on what you're measuring. 

If you're measuring fundraising,  things are going well. I've raised about 30% of my fundraising goal. I'm not exactly where I wanted to be but, then again, I wanted to be at 100% by the first month and that was probably a little unrealistic.

Ok, a lot unrealistic.

I have two fundraisers coming up in April and not a ton of expenditures until then. So, overall, I feel like I'm doing fine. I always thought fundraising came easy to me and it does - when it's for other people. It's much harder to ask for money for yourself!

Speaking of... in case you want to get me closer to 50% of my goal, here you go:

Donate

If you're measuring voter outreach, things are also going well. I've started knocking on doors and have been met with lots of kindness in support. I also have amazing family and friends that are knocking on doors around Paducah, which is also fantastic. I've spoken at several groups and have done community outreach. I've also begun advertising in local magazines and on Facebook.

Again, I think my expectations with regards to how much I could get accomplished in the first month were a smidge high. I'm trying to recognize any progress as good and not be too hard on myself.

If you're measuring the candidate's mental state, then it just depends on the day! Some days I'm so energized by the conversations I'm having with people who care so deeply about Paducah's future. Some days I feel like everything is such an uphill battle.

Campaigning is hard because you always feel like there's more you could be doing. Or - even worse - you see an opponent out there doing it. I'm beginning to realize what a mind game this entire exercise really is. 

You're constantly weighing your actions and words against your opponents and the desires of the voters and the reality of the situation and the concerns of your own family and friends. I find myself - despite my best efforts - second guessing myself and worrying that everything I do or say will upset someone.

Then, I remember.

It probably will and that's ok.

I'm not running for City Commission to make everyone like me (although campaigning can feel like that sometimes). I'm running because I love this town and I want what's best for it and I believe I am uniquely qualified to make that happen.

And I would have needed to learn (and relearn) that lesson even if I had raised a million dollars in February and knocked on every door in town.

So, let's try this again.

How's the campaign going?

It's GOING. I'm raising money. I'm knocking on doors. And I'm learning that being a candidate is so much more than those two things. 

Four Things I Learned in February

1. I have to value progress, not completion.

The campaign lessons are coming hard and fast just two months into the process. I had this vision of raising ALL the money I needed for the campaign and having every ad designed and placed before the end of February. (For those of you with campaign experience, it's cool. I'll wait while you finish laughing.) As someone who values the completion of a task, the ongoing journey of a campaign can feel a bit overwhelming. Yes, there's a hard deadline (hello, May 17th!) but the overall work of the campaign continues the entire time. I'm not going to wrap up one task neatly before I move on to next and I have to accept that. I also have to remember to celebrate the successes and progress as they come instead of beating myself up for still working towards a goal. 

In other words, campaigning is going to be an excellent test of my personality quirks and emotional stumbling blocks. 

2. The easiest way to cook a sweet potato for breakfast.

I'm a big fan of sweet potato hash and eggs for breakfast. I used to grate the sweet potato and fry it but that was a) a lot of work and b) easy to burn. This month I started just popping the sweet potato in the microwave then scraping the cooked inside into the frying pan for a few seconds. So. Much. Easier. Also, just as delicious. 

3. Stitch Fix is awesome.

I posted about the box when it first arrived. It was so fun and exciting to get it in the mail I was worried that after thrill wore off I might have buyer's remorse. Nope! Have been wearing the heck out of the jeans, which was actually the item I was most skeptical of!

4. John Oliver is the king

Felix's Winter ONE-derland

This weekend we hosted a Winter ONE-derland party in honor of Felix's first birthday. Considering this child was born during a snow, it seemed like an appropriate theme. Well, the weather had other plans and it was 70 and sunny! I could have hosted the dang party outside! 

Instead, I filled the inside with sparkly snowflakes and snowballs. We had the most adorable and delicious snowy treats known to man (although we decided on frozen hot chocolate instead of the real thing!) and lots of friends and family over for chili. It was a really wonderful day celebrating our precious little one-year-old!

Stitch Fix and building a capsule wardrobe

First up, MAD PROPS to the style bloggers. Taking pics of yourself in clothes is STINKING hard, especially if you would like to avoid cleaning up your house but don't want to show the unmade bed and dirty laundry in the background!

I signed up for Stitch Fix and my first box arrived! HUZZAH! 

For those of you unacquainted, Stitch Fix is hand-selected women's fashion shipped free, straight to your door. You get a personal stylist and you get to try on at home risk-free. Buy what you want. Send back what you don't.

I hate shopping so there is nothing not awesome about this. As I've previously mentioned, I've been trying to build a capsule wardrobe (I swear there's a full post coming on this soon!) and I was ready to add some warm weather items - as well as campaign-appropriate professional gear. Stitch Fix seemed like the solution.

In my first box, I received a pair of distressed boyfriend jeans, a split neck blouse, reversible knit top, woven blazer, and Colorblock knit dress. 

Boyfriend jeans - The jeans actually fit really well and I liked the cut really well. However, I don't really need another pair of jeans and distressed isn't really my thing. It looks cute on other people but I always feel like I'm trying too hard.

Split neck blouse - I loved the cut of this blouse but the color isn't great on me and tends to dull my hair. I asked for brighter colors because I have so. much. black and gray and it's starting to bum me out. Alas, this color wasn't quite right.

Reversible knit top - Well, first of all, it's striped. Navy stripes. I LOVE a good stripe. Second of all, it's REVERSIBLE. That's like two tops in one. I loved the weight of the knit and it fits really well. Plus, the key to capsule wardrobe is having flexible pieces that works lots of different ways. This definitely fits the bill. 

Woven blazer - I really like the idea of this blazer. I really liked the way it was a little bit slouchy and the back was longer than the front. Alas, as I tried to get a flattering picture of me in it, I realized I was having trouble because it just wasn't flattering. It didn't fit snugly enough around my ribs to make the slouchy-ness work and the color wasn't particularly flattering.

Colorblock knit dress - Love this dress. I don't usually go for Colorblocking but it's professional while still seeming modern. The colors are great and it fits really well. I still need a blazer that works with it but I'll get my new stylist on it!

BUT I want to hear what y'all think!

Ruby

For my 30th birthday, I created a list of 30 things I wanted to do. One was to write a historical fiction short story. This is the story and as Ruby keeps calling to me here lately. I thought I'd share it here. 

As Ruby placed the birthday cake in front of her one-year-old daughter, she had only one thought. Please, God, not another one.

Little Gertrude’s blue eyes widened with glee. Within seconds, her face was covered in frosting and the other children were growing impatient for their slice of the precious treat. Ruby’s father had sent the ingredients for the cake to the farm that morning. His general store was one of the most successful businesses in town, while her husband’s sharecropping barely fed the five mouths living under their roof.

She had decided to bake the cake while Dellon was busy in the fields. It was easier that way. No explaining. No shame. No watching the hurt and embarrassment wash over his face. Ruby knew the children could keep the cake a secret. They had many secrets between them.

“Momma, are you ill? Do you need to rest?” Mary Elizabeth asked her with worry streaked across her young face. Of all her girls, Mary Elizabeth looked the most like Ruby as a young girl. Her deep-set brown eyes and small delicate mouth were identical to her mother’s. But unlike Ruby, there was a hardness to Mary Elizabeth’s features. Ruby couldn’t help but feel responsible for that.

“No, sweet girl. I’ll be fine. Please take your sisters and Andrew outside and take the wash off the line.”

It was April. A beautiful spring day. One of the first warm ones they had had in weeks. Dellon had awoken before dawn to take advantage of the weather and kissed her softly before leaving the house. If it was true, this baby would arrive in January – in the middle of winter.

Please, God, not another one.

There had been a time when another baby was all she wanted. After Mary Elizabeth, she had given birth to a son. Ruby had been so happy to give her husband a son, although he swore a house full of girls would have pleased him. James with his tiny head full of dark hair had been difficult from the beginning. He cried and cried and cried until his screams followed her into sleep.

Then, he was gone. One morning she had noticed he felt warm. By the afternoon, he was on fire and as limp as a rag doll. The doctor came but told Ruby and Dellon that there was nothing he could do. It was pneumonia. He faded away right in front of her.

Ruby’s mother Mary had buried five children before Ruby was ever born. Mary Hocker was a fixed, firm woman. Her mother never spoke of the other children, nor offered Ruby any words of wisdom. When Mary Elizabeth was born, she had only looked at Ruby and said, “Know that many do not come to stay.”

Gladys had come two years after she lost James and Virgil Ruth a year later. It had been hard but they were such healthy, happy girls. Mary Elizabeth toted both around like baby dolls and the sadness that had seemed ever present in the house seemed to lift. But the little boy who hadn’t come to stay still haunted Ruby and she desperately wanted another one.

For four years, they tried. She had gotten pregnant three times and three times it ended in cramping and blood. She began to believe that her three girls were all there would be. If that had been the end of it, she could have managed, but the endless cycle of anticipation, fear, and grief took a heavy toll on her mind and body. Her happiness seemed to be intimately linked to the rise and fall of her belly.

Then, a reprieve. The excitement and fear came with the first symptoms but instead of grief she got Andrew – her precious boy. Like Gladys and Virgil Ruth before him, he was a happy baby that thrived with her attention or without. He had a head full of light brown hair and hazel eyes like his father. Ruby was ecstatic when she wasn’t terrified of him falling ill. But the older he got, the more her anxiety faded and now her tiny baby was a sturdy boy.

It was with Gertrude’s arrival two years later that it began to occur to her that her problem might not be too few children but too many.

+++++

“Dellon, I believe I’m with child.”

His face filled with joy and expectation, confirming for Ruby that she was filled with anything but.

The children were asleep and by candlelight her husband was resting after a hard day planting. She had been with Dellon for twelve years. Sometimes she had trouble remembering her life before him or believing it had ever really been hers.

When she met him at seventeen, her world was full of promise and she was full of confidence. Her father was successful and well respected and because of that Ruby had opportunities other girls did not. She was well educated and allowed to pursue things that interested her. She loved music and needlepoint and could spend hours at the piano. All of this was available to her because there was a house full of servants doing chores and tasks Ruby never even knew existed.

For so long, Ruby had believed the luxury in her life was composed of fine dresses, expensive dolls, and her beautiful home. It was only now that she realized that the true luxury in her life was time. Time to rest. Time to dream. Time to breathe. Watching her own girls’ days filled with work and chores, she ached to give them what she had had.

Unfortunately, these things did not occur to her when she fell in love with a handsome dirt farmer named Dellon Childress. He was warm and playful and looked at her with an energy she had never felt before. Her own parents loved her and she was sure they loved each other but what she felt for Dellon seemed to defy everything she believed about love. He became her everything because she gave up everything to be with him.

She still loved him. But their life was hard and his presence in it increasingly small. His nightly appearances – no matter how cheerful – were not enough for her or her children. She needed him. She needed help. She needed rest.

Another baby meant less of everything. Less Dellon as he worked to feed one more mouth. Less help. Less rest. It seemed like with every baby there was less of her.

“That’s wonderful, Ruby,” he said, his eyes shining.

“Is it?” Ruby usually tried not to worry her husband but the burden of her thoughts was becoming too heavy.

Dellon leaned forward in his chair looking her in the eyes. “Are you worried this one will end like the others?”

Ruby was worried. Worried he might see in her face that losing this pregnancy was a source of respite, not anxiety.

“No.” She turned back to the sink.

“Then James?” Dellon’s forehead creased, as it always did when he was trying to communicate more than he was saying. “Charlie Hill was telling me his grandson got real sick. They gave him that penicillin and now he’s back hanging from the rafters.”

“I know.” She replied. Ruby went for the easy way out. “How are we going to feed another little one?”

Money worried her but that really wasn’t what caused her stomach to drop every time she thought of another baby.

But how could she explain that to her husband?

“We’ll find a way. We always have before.” Dellon smiled.

“I suppose so.” She heard him get up out of his chair and move towards her, but she wiped her hands and was on her way up the stairs before he crossed the threshold of the kitchen.

***

Ruby Lovelace Childress was my great-great-grandmother and this story is based loosely on her life. She was pregnant in Spring 1914, when my great-grandmother Gertrude was one-year-old. Tragically, it was an ectopic pregnancy and she died on July 11, ten days shy of her 30th birthday. My great-great-grandfather Dellon Childress remarried shortly after her death and had two more children. He lived to be eighty-one years old.